


you can see it with the lights out

by percasbeths



Series: 12 Days of Percabeth [8]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shadow World Setting (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forbidden Lovers, Not Proofread, The Mortal Instruments AU, The infernal devices au, they're SHADOWHUNTERS, they're basically blackstairs, u don't have to have read the books to get this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28209981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percasbeths/pseuds/percasbeths
Summary: She’s in a black tank top and biker shorts, yet she’s beautiful. She always is, though. He swallows the words back, burying them alongside the burn in his chest and joins her as she trains the kids. Her parabatai rune shines on her skin, a burning reminder that he has to bottle the feeling in his chest. It breaks him, but he ignores it.He can’t tell her, he thinks. He shouldn’t tell her. Instead, his words come out in lashed out sentences and small aggressions she doesn’t deserve to be directed to her. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, but he sees the way her eyes shine as they fight. It’s silly, he thinks, to start a fight with someone who is your other half, but he does. He sees the hurt flash in her eyes, the way she swallows and nods once.or, annabeth and percy aren't allowed to fall in love, yet they do.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Series: 12 Days of Percabeth [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055423
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	you can see it with the lights out

**Author's Note:**

> U DO NOT HAVE TO READ THE SHADOWHUNTER CHRONICLES TO GET THIS !!
> 
> title from 'you are in love' by taylor swift

**Parabatai** (n.): a pair of Nephilim warriors who fight together as lifelong partners, bound together by oath, regardless of their gender. Their bond is not reflected only in their closeness and willingness to lay down their lives for one another, but also in oath—one sworn in front of the Council.

_ You can hear it in the silence, silence, you _

_ You can feel it on the way home, way home, you _

_ You can see it with the lights out, lights out _

_ You are in love, true love _

_ You are in love _

Annabeth Chase was 12 years old when she linked herself forever with her best friend, an unbreakable bond and vow to keep and choose one another forever. She remembers the day with as much detail as she possibly can: waking up to Percy jumping onto her bed and reminding her the ceremony was today, Sally Jackson making pancakes for the two of them, her once again warning them that this was a lifelong commitment. They hadn’t cared, though. 

She remembers when Percy first pitched the idea of _parabatai_ \--late one night after the entire institute was asleep, save for the two of them. They were only 10 years old, far too young to make a decision like they wanted, but he said it with so much confidence that she believed in it.   
  
“I think we should become _parabatai_.” He’d whispered the words quietly, watching Annabeth sketch a quick doodle of her room in the institute. Her finger froze, the pencil skidding to a stop against the paper, and she met his eyes. They were staring intently into hers, a flicker of brightness in the quiet darkness of the room, and he shrugs once, “You’re my best friend and I think we could be unstoppable.”

She felt something shift in her chest--she hadn’t known what it was all those years ago, but she nods. She whispers a small okay, and they lock pinkies. That was their vow, made at 10 years old and only solidified at their _parabatai_ ceremony two years later. She remembers the night before it: laying in Percy’s bed as the two of them had a thumb war as they recited the vow to one another. That was their own ceremony, she thinks, and it meant more to her than the one they’d had in front of all their friends.

Annabeth had no family--she’d been left behind by her parents and lived in the New York Institute. That night, though, she knew she found her family. She found her person, and he came in green-eyed and bright and made her happy.

  
  
  


They’re 14 years old when Percy feels it for the first time. He shouldn’t, he tells himself, as he watches Annabeth spar with another Shadowhunter who was visiting from the Los Angeles Institute. He hates the feeling in his chest: the feeling of wanting to punch a wall and yell and tug Annabeth close and never let go. It’s odd, he thinks, to feel this way about someone who you’ve known your whole life. She was home, safety, his _parabatai_ \--yet why did he feel his chest clench with every smile she gave someone else?

She’s shorter than him, he thinks. She’d always been taller, it was her favorite thing to tease him about and he never complained--something about the way she’d light up made it okay to him. Now, though, she stands shorter and it’s another thought that sends butterflies through his chest. He shouldn’t feel them, though.

He shouldn’t be as upset as he is when Annabeth tells him she’s getting dinner with the new Shadowhunter, Connor, she tells him. He should be happy, should playfully shove her and make some remark about finally getting her first kiss. He doesn’t, though, and instead attacks a dummy with his sword till it’s damaged enough that his mom deems it as trash.

In retrospect, maybe he should have seen it coming. He’d met Annabeth when they were 6 years old, back when her dad was occasionally around and her mom at least acknowledged her. Annabeth was just supposed to visit the Institute--something about her dad having to meet with his mom, who happened to run the New York Institute. Percy had taken one look at Annabeth, who stood half-hidden behind her father, and decided he thought she should become his friend.

She hated him at first. Granted, he had accidentally cut her hair with a dagger blade as he showed her around the institute’s training room, but she’d come around eventually. And when Sally Jackson came to speak with her and told her that her father had to take care of things and wanted her to stay at the institute, she’d cried into his pillow and he let her. He let his mom take her in as her own, let her share his favorite songs and sleep in his room on nights she had nightmares. They’d clicked--fit together like two puzzle pieces and he loved when she called him her best friend. 

He should have seen it coming, though. After all, no friend feels their cheeks burn when a friend compliments them. No friend thinks their friend is the most beautiful person in the world. No friend feels butterflies the way he did. He was young, though. He told himself it would pass, but now they were 14 and it burned, burned, burned. 

  
  
  
  


They’re 16 years old when she’s convinced she’s losing Percy. She can’t lose him, though. He’s her best friend, her _parabatai_. How could he let her go? Their runes are clear as day, one on his right forearm and hers on her right forearm. They’re right there, their eternal link to one another. So why was he letting go?

It started with small tasks--little stakeouts, little missions to check out small Downworlder activity that he could easily handle on his own. He was strong, only growing with age: gone was the boy who was short, lanky, and hid behind his mom. Now he was tall, towering a head higher than her with broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and defined muscles that made girls stare when they’d make trips to Montauk beach. He was beautiful, she thinks, but she’d always thought that. He just never knew.

Their days used to be filled with training together--messy sparring and memorizing each other’s battle movies and knowing each other. That was it, she thinks--the idea that someone knew her as well as Percy did. He drifted, though, and she couldn’t bring herself to fight it. She lets him, though, and he lets her get closer to a visiting Shadowhunter from Oklahoma named Piper. 

It’s different, she thinks, befriending someone who wasn’t Percy. Spending nights with someone who wasn’t Percy. He’s her best friend, she remembers, she’ll love him forever. These days, though, the words don’t comfort her the same way. Instead, they make her chest clench and she lets tears burn her eyes and slip on her pillows and she swallows the way it hurts when he runs out of the institute in the mornings. 

She doesn’t want to tell him, but she indirectly does. She lets tears blur her vision as she sketches him--a messy, half effort drawing of him training. She’d captured the picture on her phone weeks ago, during a period where he’d wanted her to give him notes on his form. It had been an accidental photo, but it made something shift in her chest. She draws it, rips it from the notebook and writes out the words ‘I miss you’ rather than her signature.

He shows up an hour later and she buries herself in his chest and tries her best to ignore the way she feels like she’s home, but not in the way she should. 

  
  
  
  


They’re 17 years old when it hits Percy that he’s feeling the way he shouldn’t. It’s a rock in his chest as he watches Annabeth, bright and beautiful and the better part of him, train younger Shadowhunters who pass through the institute--watches her laugh and readjust a boy’s shoulders, holds his arm as she teaches him technique. He feels it in his chest again, buries it as Annabeth gives him a smile from across the room. 

She’s in a black tank top and biker shorts, yet she’s beautiful. She always is, though. He swallows the words back, burying them alongside the burn in his chest and joins her as she trains the kids. Her _parabatai_ rune shines on her skin, a burning reminder that he has to bottle the feeling in his chest. It breaks him, but he ignores it.

He can’t tell her, he thinks. He shouldn’t tell her. Instead, his words come out in lashed out sentences and small aggressions she doesn’t deserve to be directed to her. He doesn’t mean to hurt her, but he sees the way her eyes shine as they fight. It’s silly, he thinks, to start a fight with someone who is your other half, but he does. He sees the hurt flash in her eyes, the way she swallows and nods once. 

_ I wish we never became  _ parabatai . The words left his lips so easily that it scared him. He wouldn’t trade Annabeth Chase for the world, he knows that much, but maybe if he says the words enough she’ll be exorcised from his body. She doesn’t walk away, even when the words make her flinch and he sees a tear roll down her cheek. So, instead, he does: tugs on a jacket and runs.

He doesn’t stop till he’s deep in Central Park, hidden under a tree Annabeth and he had coined as their own years ago. Somewhere on one of the top branches, way up where no one would think to climb except two ridiculously stupid young Nephilim, you’d find the letters ‘A + P’ engraved in the wood. He buries his head in his knees, silent for a moment, but then she’s there and she’s a blazing fire and it only reignites the pain in his chest.

“How dare you?” She seethes, forcing him to stand up and meet her eyes. They’re blazing, burning so bright into his and he’s dissolving, he thinks.

“How fucking dare you?” She pokes her hand into his chest, right beside where his heart’s pounding. “I don’t even know what I fucking did, but you are not, under any circumstance, allowed to say we should have never become _parabatai_. You’re my stupid half, the second part of my soul and you can’t rip me like I’m some bandaid on a healed wound. I don’t go away, Percy.”

She’s flushed red, eyes dark and staring into hers, and all he does is hug her. 

He loves her, he knows it.

  
  
  


They’re 18 when Annabeth becomes more reckless than usual. She’d always had Percy to fall back on, after all, so she let herself take risks. Runes burned when he’d draw them on her skin--the feeling of his fingers holding her skin lingering far after his touch was gone, the ache in her chest refusing to go away whenever they locked eyes. They’d always go together--that was the unspoken agreement between the two of them. She was dangerous, though, often opting to ignore Percy’s warnings and forgo Sally’s rules about certain jobs that needed to be done. 

She can’t breathe, she realizes, choking whenever Percy was near. She shouldn’t feel that, though. _Parabatai_ make you stronger, she thinks, so why was she dizzy whenever he was near? She ignores it, though, and swallows back the feeling in her gut and ignores how she can feel her heart in her chest wherever he got too close.

She drags Piper on recon missions with her, despite the fact that Piper knows full well that Percy will only get upset, and Piper stands and watches as Annabeth puts herself in danger time and time again. She knows there will be a point where she’s hit the final straw, but for now she ignores it.

One particular Downworlder is what gets her, though. She was meant to meet up with Piper for this one--meet up in the subway station and head to stake out together, but Annabeth has never been one to follow the rules. Instead, she finds herself cornered in the middle of Central Park with no backup and a monster seconds away from killing her. She’s choking, she realizes, and mentally sends out an apology to everyone she’s close to.

Death doesn’t actually come though. Instead, she sees a seraph blade slash through the Downworlder choking her and then Percy’s there, eyes blazing and holding onto her before she collapses onto the ground. He’s quick to draw a healing rune on her, and she feels it course through her as she stands up straighter, pulling herself from Percy’s grip to stand on her own.

“Are you _out_ of your fucking mind?” The words come out in a yell, echoing throughout the empty park and Annabeth grimaces, “I’m sorry, I just--”   
  


“I was choking, Annabeth!” He cuts her off, another shout leaving her and the words making her freeze, “What?”

“I _felt_ it. Whatever that Downworlder was doing, I fucking felt it. I was helping mom cook dinner one second, the next I’m doubled over on the floor with no clue of what was going on. What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know, Percy, I just--”

“You didn’t know?”

She’s tired of the way he’s cutting her off, but his eyes are blazing and his face is burning and she knows better than to argue, instead, she lets him continue.

“We made a fucking vow, Annabeth. I don’t know if maybe you’ve chosen to ignore it, but it follows something along the lines of ‘wherever you go, I shall go’ and, this one’s the big one, ‘for if you die, I die too’. You are a part of me, Annabeth.”

“You’re a part of me, too!” She finally cracks, stepping forward and giving him the slightest of shoves, “And I _know_ our vows, okay? And I know maybe I should have immediately sent out an SOS or something but I can’t, okay? You’re talking all this game about our _parabatai_ bullshit yet you’ve done nothing but close me out for weeks, so what--”

She never finishes the sentence, because she feels lips on hers and she suddenly can’t think of anything else. Percy. Her Percy. Kissing her. She knows she shouldn’t, knows that she should pull away and tell him that they can’t, but instead, her hands curl around the fabric of his shirt and she’s pulling him closer. 

His hands, the same calloused hands that know far too many battle strategies and have engraved her skin with runes, cup her face and she’s home, she knows it. It’s the same feeling she’s felt since she was 10 years old and cried in his bed for the first time, and doesn’t ever want it to stop.

They’re cursed, she thinks, but she can’t bring herself to care as his lips press deeper into hers.

  
  
  
  


They’re 19 when it becomes too much to handle. They love each other, they know this much. They avoid each other’s lips, avoid the close contact that comes from being around each other. Percy’s burning and Annabeth’s the only thing keeping him sane but she hurts him. He knows he shouldn’t but he finds himself at Magnus Bane’s doorstep, tears burning in his eyes and running on no sleep.

He hasn’t slept for weeks, and he’s begging Magnus for something, anything, to take this away. He can’t do it anymore, can’t bottle the way it hurts to be with Annabeth but hurts to also be without her.

“You two…” Magnus trails off, studying Percy and the way his eyes are bloodshot and the fact that he’s in sweatpants from when he was 15 and a hoodie that has a whole in the sleeve that he can’t bring himself to throw away, “you know this isn’t allowed, right?”

Percy swallows, nodding once, “I couldn’t stop it though. I mean, look at her.”

Magnus has a sad smile, gives Percy a drought of something that would help him sleep better, “I can’t--I won’t touch your emotions. I can’t do that to you.”

Percy swallows, nods once, thanks him when he says he’ll talk to someone who might help.

He’s in love with her, he thinks, and she might just be what destroys him. He doesn’t mind, though. It would be a privilege to be ruined by Annabeth Chase.

  
  
  
  


They’re 21 when Jem Carstairs shows up at the New York Institute and frees them. Annabeth’s 21 when she watches their _parabatai_ runes dissolve from the skin, 21 when the boy she’s loved since she was 16 years old grabs her and kisses her for the first time in forever, holds her and reminds her she’s home. 

“The runes may be gone,” Percy says quietly, laying in bed with his head buried in her shoulder, “but the vows stand, ‘Beth.”

She presses her palm into his, studying the way his fingers can cover hers easily, “Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee…”

She feels him press a kiss to her jaw, “For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.”

“Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.” The words are whispered in the darkness, and she feels Percy place another kiss onto her skin.

“The Angel do so to me, and more also,” He pauses, lifting himself so he can prop himself on his arms, hovering over Annabeth. His eyes are fixed in hers--the same green she’d stared into at 10 years old and decided she’d wanted to keep looking into them forever.

He brushes his lips to hers, “If aught but death part thee and me.”

He kisses her properly, and she feels the next years of her life flash before her: travel with Percy, trips to Idris, building their future here in New York in the very building they’d grown up. Percy was her future, and as she presses her lips deeper into his, she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

They’re 21 when their lives begin, perfectly intertwined with one another and the start of their forever. 

_ You two are dancing in a snow globe, go round and round _

_ And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown _

_ You understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars _

_ And why I've spent my whole life try to put it into words _

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: percasbeths


End file.
